


0. The Fool

by DaggerStar



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Crucifixion, Cults, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Manipulative Mother Figure, Original Universe, Religious Cults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaggerStar/pseuds/DaggerStar
Summary: The price of hubris is different for everyone, but it's always expensive.
Kudos: 1
Collections: Tales of The Arcana





	0. The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Grim's playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2JAkvS3cmbp7thFZ8zq5SJ?si=M5bcjG6UQICKHqiGZsAfjg

As anyone could attest to, growing up on the outskirts of Rubalex could be boring, and being lower-class can make it near unbearable. The Monarchal Union is an interesting spattering of cultural hubs, full of many different people with many dreams. Grim LaChance was one such person. Amore and Renard LaChance started a small gardening business together, something that was just enough to keep them afloat and afford the sporadic small luxury. Some such luxuries included the occasional family trip to the nearby kingdom of Elysium, the holy centre of the monarchy. When traveling there, Grim was drawn in by the glitz and glamour of it all. The decorative buildings, sparkling waterways, and bright lights were alluring, especially to someone as young and impressionable as Grim was when they first fell in love with the city. 

Being an aasimar, people had always told them how pretty they were, and they loved looking at magazines and posters of other beautiful people. Beauty is a big deal in the Union after all, with social tiers built on the foundation of grandeur. Amore and Renard wanted Grim to take over the family gardening business. Grim knew they’d never be happy with that, which is what they told their parents less than respectfully during a rather heated argument about the future. They were only 23, but the young aasimar knew what they wanted. To be part of the magnetic allure of the modeling industry. So that night, they packed their things and the next morning, they bid their parents farewell. As a goodbye, Grim said that they wouldn’t come back until they were successful.

This journey to greatness started off tough to say the least. A small town kid adventuring to the big city fueled by hopes and dreams. Grim took only what they could carry and hitchhiked to the capital of Elysium. Once they finally got there, they were able to book a less desirable motel for a week with most of their savings and they got to work. Days straight were spent going door-to-door at modeling and entertainment agencies. Any money left not spent on the motel room was spent on a halfway decent photographer for some headshots and filler photographs. The photographer was perhaps a bit too touchy for the work he had been doing with Grim, but in the end, it was worth it to be able to get a foot in the door. For a short time, Grim didn’t hear anything back, so they were forced to live sparingly. If they needed food, they’d go out and steal fruit or some ramen. The unsure nature of their future nearly drove them home several times, but they refused to relent. To give up on their dreams. Grim had already come so far. 

That mindset worked, as an agency finally reached back out to them to tell them they got signed. It didn’t take too long for the jobs to start. Modeling for advertisement art, posing for photoshoots. Grim LaChance was on cloud nine, even if it was mostly beginner’s work. This was their step in, and it would surely give way to bigger opportunities. Unfortunately, in order to make money in certain businesses, one must have money. Therefore, Grim turned to a type of lifestyle that many newcomers into the big city did: crime. It was purely petty, like pickpocketing and shoplifting. Just enough to get by, just enough to keep the motel room. Until one day day, Grim picked the pocket of the wrong person.

An average height, black haired woman with lightly tanned skin and deep green eyes just barely poking out of a white, porcelain Bauta mask with black filigree framing the eye holes. She had been wearing a rich, jewel toned corset and matching tournure, with a silky black skirt and similarly textured black blouse. It was her hat that caught Grim’s attention though, with a fishnet veil covering half of her face, and a large display of multicolour feathers topping it. Grim knew she’d have gold leaves inside her hip bag ripe for the taking. When they tried to utilize their sleight of hand, however, the woman caught their wrist. She turned to peer at them, maybe offended, maybe amused. The woman dragged Grim into an alley and spoke in a steady voice.

“What in the Mother’s name do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing!” Grim had replied.

“Were you going to pick my pocket?” she chuckled. “You need money that badly?”

Grim didn’t say anything and simply looked at the ground. This woman was almost a foot shorter than them, but held such a demanding air. She let go of their wrist.

“Here,” she said as she took a few gold leaves out of her bag. “My name is Lady Sombra Lemor.”

“G-Grim LaChance,” they sputtered out in shock.

“There’s more where that came from, _mijito_ , if you’re interested.”

The world that Lady Lemor showed Grim was a dark one, but full of brand new thrills. It was the world of the Monarchal Union’s most known secret, The Reverents, a group of mercenaries specializing in delicate work. Scouts, thieves, spies, assassins, treasure hunters, all making up the powerful group casting a deep shadow over the country. Despite the general gossip and reputation of the group, Grim fit in well and found like-minded individuals, especially under the wing of Lady Lemor. All the small jobs done under the group’s watchful eyes brought in good money and Grim soon found themself not needing to struggle as much to get by. In turn, their modeling career became more advanced. 

Life in Elysium went from rough to almost… glamourous. The dirty deeds Grim did for The Reverents were worth it if it meant the success they swore their parents, and themself. At first, it was as above board as criminal work could be. Mostly treasure hunting for local wealthy families, personal security at politically charged meetings, the like. The training could be hard on the body, but nothing a rogue healing hands couldn’t fix before a shoot the next morning. Eventually it more than just paid the bills. Being a part of the order became something Grim enjoyed. Something they did quite well. Until one bout of misfortune.

It was like the toppling of dominoes before the piece was finished. No one expects jobs in fashion to last very long in the Union, with its fleeting fancies of trends being so shallow. But the decline is usually gradual, at least. Not the consequence of a cocky attitude toward a job a bit above one’s pay grade. It was just a simple grab. Get in, take an item that the Caspari family assumed the Lehnhart family stole from them, get out. There wasn’t supposed to be many guards in the estate with most of them accompanying the Lehnhart’s to a grand Samhain ball being put on by the Carlevaro’s. A very bitter ball, indeed, and rather dull in the mind of Grim. When they entered the estate, all was just as quiet as was planned on. Lady Lemor had originally requested another skilled Reverent by the name of Vachi Vacari to go alongside Grim should anything go awry, but Grim refused. Though Vacari had often been a good partner to have on jobs, Grim was sure they could handle this alone. Prove their mettle. 

However, on their way to the room this antique was supposed to be in, they saw a large group of guards near the entrance along with a nicely clothed woman rushing back into the house. Perhaps she’d forgotten something, but it didn’t matter. As Grim turned around to find a hiding place, they were face to face with three guards. Each pointed their weapons at them. Grim, wide-eyed at the concept of being caught for the first time in their career criminality, turned tail and tried to run. As they turned a corner, a lance pierced through their side. They clenched their jaw and kept running through the sudden lurch of pain. Yelling orders echoed around them and two more guards appeared in front of them. They assumed that two could be a much more manageable amount to fight, and withdrew their rapier.

Blades clashed for but a minute before one of the guards got a hefty, rough slash across Grim’s face. They immediately gripped the torn skin, fresh tears burning the wounds. Once again, they disengaged and ran, though this time, out of a window to make sure the guards couldn’t follow them. Glass danced around them, on exposed skin, glittering like a thousand little stars. Grim rolled when they met the ground, and kept running down alley after alley. They were in so much pain, more than just their natural healing could fix. Finally, they had to stop. Back against a brick wall, heaving, crying. A mild rain pittered onto them, soaking the red blood pouring from their face and side wound further into their ruined shirt. 

Grim fell to their knees and looked at themself in a puddle. A great slash, starting under their jaw, breaking, then continuing right across their nose. Two worryingly large pieces of glass embedded in their left brow and cupid’s bow respectively. A fleshy gash below their right rib. Tears merged with blood dripped into the water and they clutched their face. Grim let out an agonizing, mournful cry. Gold wings sprouted from their back, filling the dark alleyway with radiant light. A few feathers fell onto the floor, disappearing soon after. As they fished their communicator from their belt pockets, a pressure in their skull reverberated feelings of frustration and chagrin toward them from the familiar voice in their head; a voice Grim loved to ignore. With blurred vision, Grim dialed up the order’s connection line and was greeted with a startled looking operator.

“L-Lady Sombra Lemor, please,” they struggled out, suddenly very aware of how much blood they’d lost.

When the line went through to Lady Lemor, her face turned from annoyance to shock at the state of them. She called behind her at someone off-screen and then looked to Grim expectantly.

“I need assistance. There were more guards than expected. They attacked me. I’m… bleeding. Please, _donna signora_.”

Their voice was hoarse and they felt their wings begin to fade away after the initial release of light. Lady Lemor tilted her head at them, a troubled shadow etching her crow’s feet.

“Did you retrieve the artifact for the Caspari’s?”

Grim’s brows furrowed. “No.”

“I see. I’ve gotten your location, assistance is on its way.”

The line went dead. The last thing Grim remembered before passing out as the adrenaline ran its course was the disappointed look on Lady Lemor’s face.

When Grim awoke, they were in a bed in the Reverents’ headquarters. They felt their face and it was covered in bandages. Their body was unbelievably sore. It was some time before the dreaded meeting between themself and Lady Lemor came to pass. A couple days of a healer checking up on them, giving them something for the pain, and leaving before lunch was brought to them. Then, early in the morning, Lemor visited. Grim had been up through the pain when the black-clad woman’s heels clicked into the room. She pulled a chair to the side of the bed and crossed her legs.

“While you’ve been healing up in here, Vacari retrieved the artifact for the Caspari family.”

Grim swallowed and looked anywhere except her piercing emerald eyes. They’d failed.

“I am _sure_ you’ll recover from that, though. You have to, considering what will happen to your day job now.”

“What do you mean?” Grim interjected, breath hitching.

“Oh, _mijito_ , have you not looked in a mirror lately?”

Grim shook their head, eyes widening. Lady Lemor fished through her black patent clutch and brought out a rouge compact. She handed it to Grim, and they saw their face covered in gauze, a light pink hue in the middle of each strip. With a shaking hand, they pulled the coverings off their skin, wincing. Warm tears formed in their eyes and their vision blurred too much to see Lady Lemor’s red lips curl into a smirk. The cuts in their face were deep and virulent. The intact flesh framing them was swollen and only the wounds on their brow and lips were even starting to scab. 

As for the sword slash across their cheek and nose, only the bare minimum had seemingly been done to aid in the healing process. Stitches and antibacterial cream. Pain erupted from the red lesions as tears poured down their cheeks. Beauty is _everything_ in the Monarchal Union, modeling at the level Grim had finally got to was akin to being worshipped, and it was all they’d ever wanted since their first family trip to the kingdom. At the age of twenty-nine, just six years after they’d left Rubalex to follow their dreams in Elysium, their modeling career was over. Their hopes were crushed. Everything they’d sacrificed to get there has been for nothing. The price of hubris.

“What a waste. You were so pretty.” Lady Lemor clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth, grimacing. “Though consider it a consequence for being careless. You’ll be returning to work once your wounds have healed. Full-time.”

Lady Lemor took her compact back from Grim’s shaking hand. With that, she stood up, pushed the chair back to the corner of the room, and left. Grim cried everyday they were healing, then after that, every moment they had time alone. When they returned to work, it was slow. People treated them differently. It was as if they’d fallen from grace, from the lap of Lady Lemor, from the respect of their peers. Until, that is, two years later, an opportunity to climb back up the only ladder they had left arose. The first job they’d ever been offered that involved murder. An easy hit on a duke’s son visiting from the kingdom of Opelite, paid for by an unnamed noble household. When the job was presented to them, they had wanted to refuse. But an understanding came to them, suddenly and electrically. 

How could they say no? What else was there to do? Monotonous treasure hunting jobs in the sands of Alaran or bodyguarding some pompous dandy in Elysium was all well and good, but the Reverents was their career now. Were they to go home to their parents who did nothing but their best, looking ruined and wretched, having failed in their pursuit of happiness that they had sworn up and down was the correct path for them? No. They were in much too deep. A faint voice in their head scolded them, a fleeting thing that they’d stopped listening to too early in their life. So they took the job. Got blood on their hands for this order that they once loved so much. When they got back from the assassination, Lady Lemor greeted them with pride and a job well done. Such crocodile warmth was better than no warmth at all.

Such became regularity. They trained to take their mind off their own unluck, and got good. Really good. They were respected again as a soldier of the Union, and now, as an intimidating assassin. Up and up the ladder they went, surpassing the peers who still had too much care and naïvety in them to go anywhere. Lady Lemor paid them mind once more and saw the true potential inside of them, now that they had nothing else. She hadn’t needed to do all of the isolating herself; the deeper Grim got, the more they achieved such a thing all on their own. The order has a well kept secret, for the ears of only the highest performing among them, including of course Lady Lemor herself. Grim’s ascent to true, professional grace was not unseen by the eyes of The Mother, and Lady Lemor saw it fit to reward them for their dedication. She came to Grim while they were recovering from a job one night, long past caring about new scars now that they had nothing to care about them for.

“You did well on the Carlevaro job today, _mijito_.” She smiled thin.

“ _Grazie_ , my lady.”

They wrapped a bandage over a crossbow bolt hole in their side. It had missed anything important. After the bandage had been wrapped properly, they touched right over the wound and breathed out, letting the warm touch of their innate healing magic calm their pain.

“You’ve grown so much in this family, LaChance. A lot of good work has been accomplished by your hand. I have an offer for you.”

Grim looked up at her with tentatively piqued interest. “What offer might that be?”

“Well, no one under my wing should be limited in their abilities to be the best. Especially after recovering from your… hiccup a few years ago. How would you like to be one of the big kids?”

They felt their mouth go dry at her words. There was something about them, something that was cloying, though maybe not purposefully. But still, their interest held.

“How so?”

Lady Lemor hummed and beckoned for Grim to follow her out of the room. She extended a hand for them when they displayed some difficulty getting up with the wound in their side, and looped an arm around their own to assist them. The two of them walked together in a candle lit hallway for a few moments before the lady spoke again.

“As you can probably imagine, I’m something of a special case in the order, as are a handful of your betters. We are blessed by The Mother, you see, to better serve the Union.”

Grim nodded along to her words as they walked. The shadows cast by the flames danced on the walls like a picture show. As she spoke, her eyes seemed to reflect the fire with such elation.

“Through a holy ritual, those of us a step above the rest become perfect, essentially. Something more than people.”

“What… would that mean for me?”

“Someone as dedicated to this order as you are would do great things if you could further be a part of this family. You have such amazing potential, Grim honey, and I want to see your continued ascension. Don’t you still want to make something of yourself?”

Grim’s eyes darted away from Lady Lemor’s at that sentiment and they let out a sigh. She was sugaring them up, they knew that, but she was still right. If they couldn’t make it in the modelling industry, why not become better at their current job? The visage of their parents watching them leave the nest alone flashed through their mind, a reminder from their voice, and they shook their head. No, no, they could salvage their life. Especially if it was a blessing from The Mother, as Lady Lemor said. Of course, they’d need proof, but they still knew the connection that The Reverents had with the Church, though not intimately. Grim was not their mom; they did not listen to the Father-given voice inside their head telling them to do only good things. Maybe they should have. But it was not the time to dwell.

“Why would The Mother want to bless me? Surely there are better candidates, _non_?”

“She sees your potential as well. If you go through with this, you will have what you came here for. Money, community, appreciation.” Lady Lemor looked Grim directly in the eyes with a soft smile on her face. “No more disappointments.”

Grim stared into her deep green eyes, looking for something wrong. As they studied her face, they saw truth there, surprisingly. She was the preacher during Sunday mass, speaking her sermons to the true believers. Believing what she herself was saying, maybe, maybe not, and enjoying people hanging off every word. Her charm dug into your flesh and bones like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. But her promises were never empty, not yet, in the nearly eight years they’d been acquainted. In the end, Grim had no real reason not to accept the words Lady Lemor was speaking as real, even despite her dulcet tone of voice. All the rotten luck of their life had been because of them, not her. They pursed their lips.

“What does this ritual involve?”

“I will admit, it’s intense and if you’re not ready for it, it can go… poorly. It involves sacrificing blood for The Mother to show Her your dedication to the cause, some chanting by clerics. Afterwards, you’ll be the best version of yourself,” she explained.

The two of them stood out on a balcony in the cold. Grim pulled their cloak tighter to fend off the bite of the Autumn air, though it didn’t seem to bother the _donna signora_ very much.

“I was hesitant too, at first, _mijito_. But look at me now. Look where I stand in the Union. It’s worth it, I promise.”

Grim leaned forward onto the balcony’s dark metal railing and looked out to the city skyline. They rubbed their face in their hands, likely smearing their already worn makeup. Something in them asked, begged, what would their parents think of all this, and they shut that thought process down. They hadn’t cared about what their parents thought for years and weren't about to start right then and there. With one last huff of resignation, they turned to Lady Lemor, who already had her hand out to shake. The two of them clasped hands and shook on this deal.

“I’ll tell the individuals involved in this ritual. See you again soon.”

Lady Lemor started walking back indoors, the click of her heels stark against the rest of the silence around them both. She turned around.

“Have a good night, LaChance.”

It took a couple weeks of doing mundane jobs and hits before their time came. Frankly, they’d begun to think it was all empty promises by the time a cleric of the Church approached them and asked them to follow him. He had led Grim down and down spiraling staircases of The Reverents headquarters for what seemed like hours of nervous time. The deeper they got, likely even into the ground, the colder the air around them became, until finally the damask wallpapers and mahogany trims turned to stone and metal. The cleric took a lantern out from their cloak and lit it when the area started getting dark, despite Grim themself not needing such a thing. The hallways twisted and turned, forks marked with chalk drawings of sigils. Finally, the narrow stone opened up to a cavernous area, filled with carvings and effigies of The Mother. Candelabras with red candles in them, burning away, but never seeming to go down. There was a table with what Grim could only assume to be offerings on it, and a handful of other darkly clad individuals filling the room.

“Grim LaChance, you’re about to receive quite the blessing tonight. Have you prepared yourself?” One of them spoke up in a clearly Opelite accent.

“I did as Lady Lemor instructed,” they said, proving it by slipping off their leather coat, revealing a long, white slip.

She had told them to make sure they were showered and devoid of any of their typical jewellery, and to wear just their underclothes. They shivered in the chilly air of the room, but grit their teeth through it. The person who spoke up stepped close to Grim and took them by the wrist to lead them toward the table. There was indeed a spattering of material components laid out onto it in some pattern that Grim didn’t understand. The other people formed a circle around them and one of them started to chant something in… Deep Speech. While Grim understood what was being said, it might as well have been gibberish beyond the distinct feeling of it being a prayer. The air in the room might have gotten colder, or it might have been the sudden nervousness Grim felt. Maybe it was the lack of Lady Lemor’s presence. She hadn’t said she’d be there, so Grim was unsure what they expected, but they had no one they knew here. No one to believe when they said everything was gonna be okay.

They swallowed hard when a decorative athame was raised off of the table and the chanting raised in octave and intensified in tone. Grim felt a hand on their shoulder and heard a voice instruct them to get down on their knees as if in prayer. With a dizzy feeling in their head, they did as they were told. Somewhere in the back of their mind was a voice telling them to leave, that this wasn’t worth it. But it had to be. They couldn’t give up on success. They weren’t allowed to quit. They couldn’t go back to their parents a failure. Grim held out their hands in front of them, on the table, and the main cleric took the athame and carved sigils onto their palms. It stung and it took everything to keep themself from pulling their hands back in pain. The sacrifice of blood to The Mother, surely, as their gold flecked red blood pooled in their palms. As the blood dripped onto the table, it took the shape of a pair of hands in a cupping motion.

Grim was snapped out of _something_ when they heard wood creak behind them, and their eyes darted to the source of the sound. A large, wooden cross was pulled from up against the wall by two of the chanters and carried towards Grim. They shot up from the ground and looked from mask to mask of the group around them. The cross was laid down onto a stone stage carved at the back of the room, and one of the people still surrounding Grim picked up two iron nails and some rope from the altar. The voice in their head was basically screaming at them, begging them to listen for once in their fucking life, to see the signs of what was happening. And, finally, Grim listened. Or, they tried.

“H-hey, what are you doing?”

“Preparing your sacrifice.”

“I, ah, didn’t agree- I didn’t know this would happen. Stop the ritual.”

“If we stop the ritual, you will die!”

Grim backed up into the altar with tears in their golden eyes. Stupid, so stupid. Though, Lady Lemor didn’t _lie_. No, but she withheld some vital information about this process, this ritual blessing. The two people who grabbed the cross from the wall came over and took Grim by the shoulders back to the stage. Wouldn’t they die anyway? They laid Grim down on the cross with such a force and began binding their legs together and to the cross. All the visions of a positive future came crashing down like the shattering of a broken stained glass window as the cleric brought over the nails and a hammer. If the ritual stopped now, Grim would die, the cleric explained. But a crucifixion… was an execution. They didn’t seem to want them to die, but this wooden structure was a method of ritual killing. 

The first strike of metal sent a shocking pain through Grim’s hand and they found they couldn’t heal it with their inherent magic. The second and third were sharp and brought the crushing and breaking of bones and snapping of tendons. The rest were an uneasy blur of nothing but pain. Grim begged the holy men to stop, but they kept chanting, and kept reassuring them that it would all be over soon. That they would ascend with The Mother’s blessing. Grim sobbed and cried out for Amore and Renard, not any gods or leaders. The cross was stood up, upside down, and propped up into a hole in the middle of the stage. Grim’s breath became heavy, almost too heavy to breathe, and blood pooled in their head. As the chanting got louder and more violent, the main cleric brought the athame to Grim’s heart, kneeling down in order to get proper purchase. The chant had turned into a prayer to The Mother, asking her to renew Grim’s soul and welcome it back into the land of the living with her blessing of unequaled perfection. No worldly needs of sleep, eat, or drink. In that moment, Grim understood. They understood Lady Lemor’s motives, they understood the… the _cult_ they were a part of. The unrivaled dangers of hubris and unearned trust.

The athame pierced their heart and they gasped at the sudden pressure. Warm blood poured down their face in a sheet and onto the ground, where it began to form a large sigil. Their blood caught fire, and the last thing Grim Angelo LaChance felt was the heat of flames and the inability to receive air into their dying lungs.

Then, they woke up. They were in new, dark clothes, laying on a bed in the main level of headquarters. When they took in a breath of surprise, something about the action felt wrong. Abnormal. Though their lungs expanded, they did so hesitantly. Their diaphragm moved with unease. With tears beginning to pool in their eyes, they held their breath. Minutes went by. Ten. Twenty. Grim let out a gasp of frustration and anger. They grabbed whatever was on the nightstand beside them and threw it across the room, where it fell against the wall with a dull smack. This was the price of their actions. Grim prepared themself for the beration from their inner voice, it telling them how stupid they were to trust Lady Lemor, how foolish it was to assume that anything in their life would go their way. But no such voice came. Everything was quiet.

The shadows of the room were deafening and in such silence grew a worry. Grim sat up quickly, and stood out of bed. They were shaky, and nearly fell, but they had to know. They focused all their anxiety and fear and unfurled their golden wings. Except, they weren’t golden. The incorporeal, holy wings no longer shone a light befitting of an aasimar like themself. It was as if the darkest shadows were pulled from the walls and threaded into skeletal figures behind their back. Grim fell to their knees and cried. When they were finally ready to stand back up again, they came face to face with a bundle of clothes on the nightstand. Brand new, and expensive, topped with a gorgeous, genuine Elysium-made mask. And a note, signed Lady Lemor. They read the words written in beautiful, dark red ink.

_LaChance,_

_I apologize for not telling you everything, truly. You must understand that I didn’t think you would go through with the ritual if I had. But now, you are so many steps closer to reaching your full potential, and I have never been more proud of you. When you're ready, come to the main hall for your welcoming ceremony-_

Grim tore the letter before they could finish reading it and tossed it in the simmering fire currently lit in the room’s mantle. They sat on the bed with the new mask in their hands. Grim was the perfect assassin now. Revived with a blessing from The Mother. They scoffed and laid down. What a damned fool they were.


End file.
